My Parent's Footstep's
by laal ratty
Summary: How do we become who we are? My idea on a key character's development.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Darkwing Duck or his evil twin. Enjoy**

My Parent's Footsteps

10:53 pm, 8th October 1980. It would be a date he wouldn't ever forget. A date memorable for being the death of his parent's death; shot down in the street by the lackey of a rival gang leader. Shot down right in front of him. Three should have died that night and three did die; just not the right three. A moment's pity entered into the heart of their attacker as he gazed into Drake Mallard's innocent eyes. He dropped his gun and turned around to walk away. That was all the time it took for ten year old Drake to pick up his father's gun and send a bullet into the back of Steelbeak. Showing no emotion he calmly wiped the gun clean and placed it in his father's hand. Then he sat on the ground and waited, a single tear running down his cheek before splashing at his feet.

They sent him to the St Canard Foster Home as there were no surviving relatives left around to claim him. Small for his age he was the immediate target for bullies.

"Hey look it's Drake the Dweeb. Why aren't you playing baseball Drakey? Are you scared of getting hurt or do you think you're better than us or something?"

"Well it would be hard to be worse."

"Looks like we've got us a smartass. Do you know what we do to smartasses Dweeb? We make sure that they don't remain smartasses for long." Holding Drake by the right shoulder he swung his right fist round in a right hook catching Drake a blow on the left cheek. Then his two friends stepped in with punching and kicking any part of their victim that they could see.

Three minutes later Drake had limped to the nurse and was pouring the tale into her sympathetic ears. Already a favourite with Nurse O'Neil after shedding tears in her office over tea and biscuits Drake had no problem in convincing her of his fear of the boys and the horrific extent of his injuries. Raised to motherly wrath she was quick to haul the boys up before the Director and have them stripped of their privileges for two weeks. Of course once the two weeks were up they were bullying Drake Mallard worse than ever. Though they weren't getting it as easy as anymore.

"Hey Mallard, wait up."

Drake glanced up to see Tom Mallory running up behind him. He sighed wearily.

"Hi Mallory, look what do you want? I'm rather busy at the moment."

"They're saying that you gave Sam Dingle a busted nose. Is it true?"

Drake smirked, "yeah and a broken arm too. I was getting tired of being his punching bag, it serves the bastard right."

"But doesn't he just beat you up even more."

"He tries to. Now I've got Science homework to complete."

"You're such a swot, do you know that?" Suddenly Tom found himself up against the wall with Drake's hand around his throat.

"Don't call me that. Swots are losers. Now say 'Drake Mallard is not a swot and a loser.'" He tightened his grip slightly then let go. "Say it!"

"Drake Mallard is not a swot and a loser; I'm sorry I didn't mean to imply that you were a loser c-can I go now?"

"Sure you can Tom. Now go off and have fun like a good little boy." He watched Tom go running off and then walked into the building and up two flights of stairs to reach his room. Once inside he locked the door and drew the curtains together. The only light came from his desk lamp illuminating the various books on chemistry underneath. Drake went over, opened the book on top of the pile, settled himself down at the desk and began to read.

Drake had only been in residence for six weeks but the walls of his room were still bare of any sort of personality. On the other hand the bookcases were full. On a shelf over his bed he kept his stereo with a stack of tapes next to it. In one corner stood a shopkeeper's dummy dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Attached to these were bells and in each pocket a wallet could just be seen. This was usually kept under a dust sheet so the casual observer was unable to see exactly what it was. Underneath the bed, attached to a wooden slat was a piece of rolled up material containing a set of picks. After finishing his reading it was these that he retrieved before shrugging on a jacket, unlocking his door and strolling into the corridor. He stuffed the roll of picks into an inside pocket on his jacket and began walking to the kitchens.

Along with the nurse he had also spent some time making friends with the cook. After all he didn't want to be fed liver and cold semolina pudding; the horror story of any government institution. It was one of the many things his parents had taught him – always stay on good terms with the people who did the cooking. It had come in useful for when he had skipped the communal mealtimes because he had been busy reading and forgotten the time or couldn't be bothered to eat when he had reached an exciting point in a book. It had happened again today and so his stomach was growling loudly at the lack of food inside it.

When he had reached the kitchen door he poked his head inside and looked around for Janet. Spying her he went the rest of the way in and gave her the look of a young boy who hasn't been fed in over a month.

"Janet, I'm really, really sorry but…"

"Yes I noticed you weren't in the hall at teatime this evening. I suppose you were reading again silly boy. Well I saved you some of the spaghetti bolognaise that I made. You sit down here and I'll get it for you. Then afterwards you can have some of my treacle tart with either custard or cream. Does the menu meet with Sirs approval?"

"That will be great Janet but can I have custard _and_ cream?" He looked at her hopefully.

"If you like, but you must have your main course first. I'll get it now."

Half an hour later both dishes had been eaten and the time was ten pm. After giving his thanks to Janet Drake walked to the science lab. Unlike other foster homes this one had a school built in so that its residents could get an education which wouldn't be a source of disruption if they were one of those children who couldn't seem to settle down with a foster family. One on one tutoring was available for all abilities in every subject. It was the A level chemistry lab that Drake was now picking his way into.

Fifteen minutes later he had left and was making his way back to his room with his jacket bulging slightly. Once there he unlocked a wooden chest in the corner and carefully put the items that he had taken from the lab into it. The he changed into his pyjamas and crawled into bed. Soon he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Darkwing Duck, that mouse with the big ears does.**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter Two

Drake Mallard's size might have made him the ideal bully target but he wasn't going to let his size cause people to look down on him all his life; after all he had met men far more dangerous than Sam Dingle and he had something that Dingle most definitely didn't – brains. Those brains had ensured that the state saw him as an innocent child who had had the bad misfortune to have a pair of gangster crooks as parents. And he had just seen them shot down in front of him. Surely that was enough to put a young duck off guns and violence for life? Sometimes it's not just the young who are naïve. And don't we all try and see the best in people?

Drake certainly saw the best and good in people and then exploited it. He suggested to the Director of the foster home that self-defence lessons might be a good idea for the smaller residents. Three weeks later he found himself in his first duckrate lesson.

In his lessons Drake showed a varied interest in them, English left him bored whilst he took a keen interest in the sciences. The only aspect of history that he enjoyed was military history meanwhile geography and maths were both subjects that he took sporadic interest in depending on the topics but he flatly refused to attend music lessons unless they let him learn the guitar. On this point not even all of Drake's charm could move the school board. They were adamant that letting pupils learn guitar only led to bad things such as hooliganism. The children were broken and troubled enough without adding punk and rock music into the mix.

In one physics lesson he came face to face with what would prove to be a lifelong obsession. On the 14th March 1981 he learnt about parallel universes. Everyone with an education knew that they lived in the Negaverse. Scientists had spent decades trying to open a portal between this verse and the legendary Normalverse. So far they had not succeeded. It was said that the Normalverse had a far lower crime rate and whilst the Negaverse wasn't exactly crime ridden you wouldn't want to walk on the streets alone at night.

Drake knew that he would get to the Normalverse one day. Next week, next year, next decade, it didn't matter when but someday he would reach the Normalverse. After reaching it he didn't have a clue about what he would do there but it as sure as Hell wouldn't be to do any sightseeing.

Soon after he learnt about the different universes he got fostered for the first time. It would have been a happy time for Drake if it wasn't for the fact that he despised his new family. They had decided that Drake was missing a loving family unit so they gave him one – in bucket loads.

"Drake dear it's time for your tea now. Come down before it gets cold."

"I'll be down in a minute." He was _reading_ for crying out load. He had better things to do than eat. And he knew that he would arrive in the dining room to find that she had arranged his food into a smiley face on his plate. It was enough to make him want to throw up. He shut his book and went downstairs. As he walked into the room he was greeted by three ultra-smiling faces – two beaming brightly from his foster parent's and another on his plate. Fish fingers, mash and peas; yummy – not.

"Now did we remember to wash our hands?"

"Yes," muttered Drake, he hadn't of course.

"I think someone's telling little fibs, it's not nice to tell little fibs is it John?"

"No mother," replied a red headed duck who looked roughly five years older than Drake coming in behind him. "It isn't very nice to tell fibs is it Mr Banana Brain?"

"No it isn't." He appeared to make the banana shaped doll talk back.

"John how many time have I told you not to bring that doll to the table?" asked his father.

"Twenty-one," replied John instantly, pulling out a pocket notebook and pen, "I kept a tally."

"John, take your toy to your room and Drake, go and wash your hands." The two ducks shared equally annoyed and exasperated looks with each other and then left to do as she said.

"Why do you carry that crummy toy with you anyway?" asked Drake as soon as they set foot on the stairs.

"Mr Banana Brain? I made him myself. I want to be a toymaker someday though Mum and Dad want me to join the police force. Mr Banana Brain is the first toy I've designed and made. He's special to me. I've been teaching myself ventriloquism too. Watch this." He held the doll up and without moving his lips recited in a singsong voice, "Cat's got the measles, dog's got the flu. Chicken's got the chicken pox and so have you." He grinned proudly at Drake who could only stare.

"Whatever," he muttered and pushed past John leaving him with a hurt and bewildered expression on his face.

Drake stayed three weeks before the Quackster family finally conceded defeat. After they found both the kettle and the oven in a rather blackened and blown up state (miraculously the rest of the kitchen didn't look as if it had been touched) they decided that they couldn't meet little Drake's needs. So he went back into the foster system. Two days after he had gone back they discovered that one of their chainsaws was missing. Three weeks of looking after Drake had turned them cynical so it was him that they immediately suspected. However lack of proof, a pair of baby blue sorrowful eyes and lack of any comprehension as to how he could have taken it without anyone knowing meant that they were forced to conclude that they had been visited by another burglar. No one missed the missing can of yellow spray paint however though it took Drake two days to get yellow stains off his feathers.

Other than being interrogated for chainsaw theft things at the Foster home were the same for Drake as they were before he left – except for one noticeably new addition. A rat by name of Elmo Sputterspark. Roughly the same age as Drake he took the same classes and had the room next to him. As Elmo was hugely into science you would have thought that they would have been friends. Maybe in another universe they were; just not in this one. Instead Drake despised Elmo. Science classes, especially chemistry and physics, were a chance for Drake to show off his superior intellect to the class. Now it was Elmo who shone and the other pupils held him in admiration. Perhaps it was because Elmo never patronised or scared them with his descriptions of death by radiation poisoning. He was never too proud to help someone with their homework either. Whatever it was that made Elmo the more liked he soon climbed to the top of the class pushing Drake into the number two spot.

Some psychologists who have managed to survive persecution have theorised that it was this incident that caused him to hate any second place spot he found himself in in later life. Then again, number two always receives less recognition than number one and Drake loved the attention.

**In my story I see the Negaverse as one of a myriad alternate universes rather than one which is going to be the exact opposite of Darkwing's world. Otherwise why would Gosalyn be completely sweet? So little details are slightly different as to how they might be expected to be. This is just my interpretation and you don't have to agree with me just enjoy the story. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Darkwing Duck and any recognisable dialogue in this chapter doesn't belong to me either.**

**Enjoy and review please.**

Chapter Three

As the years passed Drake became a black belt in duckrate after three years training and had begun learning other martial disciplines including Duck Fu. No one messed with Drake the Dweeb anymore and the last person to call him that had landed in hospital. Not that Drake Mallard's name was mentioned; on the contrary Rik Shelder was adamant that he had just 'tripped'. To all eyes but those belonging to the adults running the home and the adjoining school it was evident that Drake Mallard was far from being an angel. Foulmouthed, short tempered and violent he held his peers in a perpetual state of fear. The only one who dared stand up to him was Elmo.

Drake had been placed with three more foster families but each time had failed as each family had found that they couldn't deal with his destructive tendencies. They also found themselves unnerved whenever he chose to speak to them. When he was fifteen he had been part of a group that had taken an I.Q test. Drake's score had come out as 170. All his foster parents found him impossible to reprimand or argue with as he managed to turn the focus away from himself onto his parents or the discussion of yesterday's lunch. All of which meant that he got sent back to the foster home each time.

In a couple of day's time he would be leaving the foster system for good as he was turning eighteen. There was to be a party for all the residents and Drake was determined that the evening was to go off with a bang. He had been planning it for weeks; there was just one person who stood in his way – Elmo Sputterspark.

"Hey you two, c'mon here for a moment, I've got a task I'd like you to perform for me."

Ham String and Prina Lott looked at each other and then walked over to him. "What do you want us to do Drake? Graffiti the lockers?"

"No you knobs," he growled, "I want you and Prina to put Elmo out of commission for me. I don't care what you do just make sure that he isn't around for the party tonight."

"So you want us to do him over for you?"

"Use your imagination! Do I have to do the thinking for everyone in this place?" He walked away leaving the two stooges to stare at each other.

"So where do you think he'll be then Prina?"

"Let's try the science lab Ham, he'll be there trying out that _experiment_ he was muttering about earlier."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"'Cos I'm the one with the brains that's why. Let's go."

* * *

Drake looked round the hall, banners and streamers were hung on the walls and ceiling while balloons floated above each table. Everything was in a colour scheme of red, yellow and black. He walked over to the stage and unlocked the small door set into the side. Taking a torch from his pocket he swept it around. Apparently satisfied by what he saw he withdrew and shut and locked the door again. 

"Drake Mallard"

He spun round quickly and relaxed as he saw that it was only Janet. "What's with the last name Janet? You're not usually so formal."

"Well you'll soon be leaving here. It's a shame that you never settled with a family. Instead you'll have to make your own way in the world."

"Feeling sorry for me? Don't be, I can handle myself. I've already got a house lined up. Seems that the money Mum and Dad left me is coming in for something useful."

"What's the address? Maybe I'll look you up sometime, check that you're eating properly."

He smiled, "537 Avian Way. You do that sometime."

"Well enjoy your party tonight Drake. Make sure you try the Madeira cake, I baked it myself and it's rather good if I do say so." As she walked out of the hall Drake's smile grew into a malicious smirk.

"Somehow I don't think you will Janet. You won't be visiting me at all." He turned round and began walking to his room, once there he grabbed a black rucksack and began tossing various items of clothing into it. Going to his bed he retrieved his set of picks and placed it in one of the side pockets. When the bag was full he went to his open window and flung it into the bushes five metres away. Then his eye fell onto the tailor's dummy upon which a very special costume was set, ready for the night's festivities. He laughed a chilling, gleefully evil laugh.

* * *

It was nine pm and the party had been going on for an hour. Drake was leaning against the wall surveying the room from under lowered eyelids avoiding eye contact. To his satisfaction there had been no sign of Elmo all evening. Everything was in place for his gift to the system that had raised him since his parent's death. 

Drake reached down to brush an imaginary speck of dust off his immaculate yellow suit. Underneath a red polo-necked shirt could just be seen peeping out.

"I am Megawatt!" A rat dressed in a yellow jumpsuit and goggles burst through the door.

"Hey that's our name man," the band's lead singer protested.

"Oh, sorry, er in that case I am Megavolt!"

What! He's not supposed to be here and why is he wearing such a dorkish costume? Drake growled and stomped over to where Ham and Prina were.

"WHAT DID YOU KNOBS DO TO ELMO?"

"W-w-what you told us to. We cornered him in the science lab where he was doing some sort of static science experiment on a treadmill. We turned up the speed, taped his hand to the bar and then left. He's probably still there." Ham and Prina gazed into Drake's face unable to stop themselves from trembling.

"Oh he is, is he? WHO IS THAT THEN?" He pointed to Megavolt.

"Er Megavolt?"

"You _knobs_! Get out of my sight."

While Drake's evening had been taking a turn for the worse Megavolt had been speaking.

"Fear not foster children, having now acquired new powers and a funky new hair style I am here to save you from, from, shoot I've forgotten his name."

"Drake Mallard?" One young piglet piped up.

"Yes that's it; I'm here to protect you from the cruelty and violence of Drake Mallard. Er where is he?"

"Drake Mallard eh? Sadly for you Drake Mallard is no more. Instead you now have to face the wrath of NEGADUCK!" Whilst everyone's attention had been captured by Megavolt and Ham and Prina had fled to the other side of the room, Drake had reached into one of his large pockets and pulled out a red fedora, a cape and a black mask which he fastened across his face. At which point he announced himself to the hall's occupants.

"Drake?" Janet pushed her way to the front of the mass of people staring at Negaduck.

He smiled wickedly, "not anymore my dear Janet. The name's Negaduck You are all privileged to see the very start of my career. That's if you live that long."

"I won't let you do anything to hurt these people Negaduck. Eat voltage." He pointed his right index finger at him and a stream of blue sparks which looked rather like a miniature lightning bolt leapt towards Negaduck who ducked so that it struck the wall behind him leaving a blackened and chard mark.

"Hmm, how interesting. So what do you think would happen if I do this?" Quick as lightning (well nearly) he picked up a jug of lemonade from the table and threw it at the statically charged rodent who promptly short-circuited.

"Hah! Looks like you're not so 'super' now. Now where was I? Oh yes, you'd have better enjoyed this party because it's the last one you'll all be going to until you're knocking on the pearly gates. Well it's been lovely growing up with you all but it's time for me to move off to greater and badder things."

No one could move as they all stared at the duck that had formerly been Drake Mallard. Finally one person managed to ask, "Why are you telling all of us this?"

"Oh didn't I tell you? This whole place is going sky high; the buildings are laced with explosives. In fact I really should be going now and if any of you knobs are thinking of stopping me like Megadope I suggest you take a look at this." From another of his pockets he produced the re-painted chainsaw that he had stolen all those years ago from the Quackster family. He backed towards the door, not noticing that Megavolt had taken the chance to bolt, being now powerless and far less keen to fight Negaduck. After all 'he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day', right?

As he reached the door Negaduck couldn't resist the opportunity of inflicting more terror on his victims.

"By the way, you didn't think that it was _helium_ I filled those balloons with did you?" Laughing madly he locked and bolted the doors before racing outside to retrieve his rucksack from the bushes. Once he reached the opposite side of the street he pushed the red button on the remote control that he had taken from yet another of his large pockets. Whistling gleefully he walked away from the exploding building as the explosives that he had hidden under the stage together with the hydrogen filled balloons started off a chain reaction which more explosives in strategic places helped along. Soon St Canard foster home was no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own Negaduck, no really I don't.**

Chapter Four

Despite owning 537 Avian Way he wasn't in the house; he was in fact under it. No self respecting super villain to be chooses to live in the suburbs. It just isn't done. Not at least until he is so powerful that none dare question his authority. So he had chosen to make his hideout at the top of Audubon Bay Bridge. It commanded a good view of the city and no one was likely to bother him.

The house might come in useful sometime, though, and so he was busy building a tunnel between the two so that he needn't use the streets. Correction; Prof Moliarty and his band of moles were digging the tunnel between the two sites. As his first act of kidnapping it hadn't gone too badly. The moles would do anything to avoid the bright light that Negaduck had threatened them with, even work 14 hour days. At night they slept in the section of the tunnel that they had built that day so that he was sure that it was sound. He was going to reinforce it all later but he didn't want it collapsing in between. Moles were curious creatures, you couldn't quite trust them. Well if you were Negaduck you didn't quite trust anybody.

"Mr Negaduck, sir, we've completed your tunnel for you." Moliarty's whining voice continuously grated on his nerves but he had held his temper back because he needed the weak eyed cretin. But if the tunnel were finished…

"Show me!" he barked at the trembling tunnel dweller.

"Right away Mr Negaduck, sir. If you could follow me this way sir." He took Negaduck to the end of the tunnel. "If you could check this GPS device you will see that we are right under 537 Avian Way."

Negaduck looked and grinned.

"Well it appears that you and your moles aren't total knobs."

"Thank you Mr Negaduck, sir."

"Now get your moles together back at the tower, I've got a surprise for you all as a thank you for all the hard work you've put in."

"Are you going to let us go Mr Negaduck, sir?"

"Oh, I think that I can promise you that in forty-five minutes you won't have to worry about seeing me ever again."

Moliarty was so relieved about never having to see Negaduck again that he failed to notice the narrowed eyes and the smirk that caused the left hand side of his beak to rise. Moliarty was so busy not noticing these signs that he ran off to pass the good news onto his moles. As he watched him go Negaduck shifted his smirk to a sneer. Sneering at the inbred naïveté that these creatures had developed after years of living underground. Naïveté and honesty – two of the things he hated most. He checked his machine gun, hidden under his cape, and began following, each step bringing him closer to his surprise gift of death.

He pushed their bodies out through the window in the tower after waiting for night to fall. He now had the tunnel he required, he just now needed to construct a method of transportation that would enable him speedy travel between the two ends. He had the idea of using spinning blue chairs to drop him into the tunnel but he wasn't sure about what to do next.

He decided to leave the problem for the moment and concentrate, instead, on getting his parent's gang back together. All of his parent's money had been placed in a trust for his seventeenth birthday and all of their possessions had been kept in storage. Before blowing up the foster home he had transferred the money to another account as it's a bit hard to get money when you are suspected to be dead. Whilst going through their possessions he had discovered lists of the gang members and their last known addresses. He was in the process of tracking them down; if he was going to take over the town then he needed a gang behind him.

* * *

Joe was broke; the police had arrived just as he was opening the safe. He just had time to reach in and grab the first item he touched before he was forced to leg it out of the building. Once he had reached the safety of his flat he was able to take a proper look at what he had stolen. To his disgust it was a letter complete with envelope and stamps. He groaned and chucked it into the bin.

It was fortunate for Joe that it was at that moment that the telephone chose to ring.

"Yeah, what do you want?" he asked wearily.

"Is that how you speak to all your future employers Joe? Because I must say that you're not getting into my good books."

"Who is this? How did you get my number?"

"Cast your mind back Joe, perhaps you remember two ducks that employed you, two ducks called Alan and Rita Mallard."

"Oh yeah, I remember them. Hey, are you little Drakey, they said you died in an explosion."

"Drake Mallard is dead you knob. Call me a distant member of the family. The name's Negaduck."

Realisation began to set in, "hey, you're the guy who blew up Drakey! Why'd' ya do a thing like that for?"

"What are we playing? Twenty questions? Keep that big trap of yours shut and listen. Meet me in the old sweet factory on Raptor Avenue tomorrow night at seven." The line went dead.

Joe gazed at the handset in a stupor. Slowly a grin spread over his face as it gradually dawned on him that his money problems were nearly over.

* * *

The warehouse was dark and appeared to be deserted as he arrived there.

"Huh, maybe I'm early?" he thought out loud.

"Actually you're five minutes late. You're really trying to get on my bad side aren't you?"

Joe tried looking around to see who the voice belonged to but saw nothing.

"Behind you you dimwit."

Joe looked behind himself to see an open door which he was sure hadn't been there five minutes ago. He stood gaping at it.

"Go to the door and walk through it you single-celled simpleton. How did you ever get employed by the Mallard's?"

Choosing to ignore the thinly veiled insult Joe walked through the door and into a brightly lit room. Seated around a table were five men whom he recognised from his time working for the Mallard's. At the head of the table sat a yellow suited duck in a black mask and cape.

"Nice of you to finally join us Joe," stated the yellow suited duck – he had to be Negaduck- sarcastically, "take a seat."

Joe slipped into the one remaining chair and stared at the name plate in front of him, not wanting to make eye contact with the duck.

"Now that we're finally all here," he sent a vicious look at Joe, "we can finally get down to business.

"Gentlemen, my name is Negaduck and I am here to offer you the chance of your lives."

**Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own Darkwing Duck, no really I don't.**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter Five

It was finished. He had developed a system to enable speedy and efficient travel for himself between his two personal bases. He had also finished recruiting for his take over bid. Crime had always been an issue in St Canard but now it ran rampant. Multiple robberies at night were now a common occurrence so that the police didn't have enough cars to cover all sites. The citizens living in the city became accustomed to wearing earplugs at night as explosions shook the city. Graffiti covered public buildings and the only landmark that remained untouched was Audubon Bay Bridge as Negaduck had given strict orders that it wasn't to be touched without explaining to them why.

He now stood on the ledge of the tower watching the smoke rise from the city. A smudge of oil was visible on his right cheek and instead of his usual suit he was dressed in overalls with a spanner in his right hand. He had not bothered to take the mask off though. Distantly he could hear the sirens of the fire engines as they desperately raced to control the many fires that had broken out from the many bombs that had been detonated within the last half hour. He turned to go back inside.

On the floor stood what looked like a half assembled motorbike. Except that motorbikes generally didn't have skulls adorning the handlebars. This was to be his 'Troublemaker'. Enabling a speedy getaway it had incorporated a number of special features into the design. At this particular moment he was building a hidden compartment behind the seat; a compartment big enough to store two sackfuls worth of gold, money and jewels. Or twenty bombs depending on his mood.

A stereo on a shelf was blaring out _The Who's_' 'Talking About My Generation'. As he worked he sang along with his own lyrics under his breath.

I wish you'd all fade away

(Talking 'bout your situation)

And I won't care what you'll all say

(Talking 'bout your situation)

I'm here to cause a big sensation

(Talking 'bout your situation)

And you'll talk about your situation

(Talking 'bout your situation)

Your situation, your situation baby.

Ten hours later it was finished, well there was still the paint job to be done but to all intents and purposes it was road worthy at least. Not that he'd be taking it to the nearest garage and getting an MOT done on it. But what he was looking forward to now was his bed. Tomorrow was a big day; he was going to give the local television studio a visit. Negaduck was going to be on telly.

The television studio centre was tucked just behind St Canard Tower. Amazingly there was no security on the doors so that he was able to walk straight in with no problems whatsoever. There was no damage done to the building so perhaps they thought that they were safe from the unnamed as yet gang that was terrorising the streets. But still, what knobs, he thought scornfully.

The vixen at the desk had one of those high pitched voices that he hated. He was tempted to shoot her just on principle.

"Good morning and welcome to St Canard television centre, how may I help you?"

"I want to speak to the guy in charge 'round here"

"Do you have an appointment? Mr Cavanaugh refuses to see anyone without an appointment."

He took out his pair of pistols. "I wasn't asking for an appointment squeaky. Now where is this 'Mr Cavanaugh'?"

H-he's on the fifth floor but you can't just go up there. What if he's in a meeting?"

"Then I'll interrupt it. I'm Negaduck; I can do anything I want, including shooting you." He flashed her his evil smirk that he had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting.

"Shoot me?"

"Yeah, just like this." He raised his right gun by a centimetre and shot her between the eyes. Then he shot her in the chest just to make sure and because it was fun. Putting his guns back under his cape he sauntered over to the lift.

Peregrine Cavanaugh was busy yelling at one of his writers over the phone when his office door exploded inwards.

"And that's another thing I…what…what the Hell?" He looked through the dust to see a short, masked duck smirking at him.

"Knock, knock."

"Who the Hell are you and what are you doing in my office?"

"I would've thought you'd have heard of me Cavanaugh. The name's Negaduck, bozo. As to what I want – can't you see that this is a hostile takeover?"

"A hostile takeover? That's ludicrous, you can't just do that; there are rules about these things." He leaned forward over his desk glaring at the intruder.

"Oh I think you'll find that I can. Times are changing, there's a new order coming. A new order led by me. I think you'll find that in it I can do anything that I want. And that's why I want you to do this tiny job for me. I want you to put a special broadcast starring me on every television set in St Canard."

"Why should I do that?"

"Weren't you listening? There's a new, oh I don't have the patience for this," he took out his shotgun and stuck it under the falcon's beak. "How about you do as I say and I won't shoot your head off. Understand me now?"

A sullen yes was his reply.

"Brilliant, I now _suggest_ that you let your employees know."

Cavanaugh picked up the phone handset with trembling hands and pushed the button that put him onto the tannoy system. "This is Cavanaugh here, in the last five minutes St Canard Television Centre has fallen into the control of one Negaduck. I…" He was cut off as Negaduck took over.

"This is Negaduck, your town is going to look very different very soon and I'm the duck running the show. If you want to keep your miserable lives you'll all do as I say and I say that in seven minutes there's going to be a news broadcast all about me appearing in every home. I'll pass you back to your former leader now."

"Er, if I could have B crew meet me in studio nine in five minutes please? Thank you everyone."

"Excellent, let's go." He made sure that he kept his gun trained on the back of Cavanaugh's neck as he gestured for the falcon to precede him out of the office. Once in the corridor Cavanaugh took one last frenzied look at the gun and started walking to the studio.

Studio Nine was used exclusively for the news broadcasts and was permanently left as it was in between bulletins. As they walked through the doors Negaduck's gaze was immediately drawn to the big, black, leather chair behind the desk.

"Nice set up you've got here, now where's that crew of yours?" Of course that was the moment when they walked through the door looking apprehensively around. "Gentlemen," he sneered, "let's get broadcasting."

In a flat on the other side of town the Mastiff family were watching a Bud Flood advert when it got interrupted.

"We interrupt the regular schedule to give a special newscast," the announcer was pushed aside as a diminutive duck took his place and settled himself in the leather chair.

"Citizens of St Canard, your comfortable and sappy existence is now at an end. You might have noticed the changes already. Well from now on this town belongs to me and if you don't want me to come into your homes and damage them then you'll pay me $1000 per year. The first payment is due in a week. Congratulations; you are now all citizens under Lord Negaduck."

**Mwu ha ha. Please Review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**It's been a long time since october. Along with simply being a pain to write I've been busy with essays. Now that I've finished my exams and have only a week of Uni left I can get on with finishing this fic. I hope that this chapter is worth the wait. **

**Unfortunatly I have not been able to buy the copyright in the past months so Darkwing Duck and associates is still not mine. **

Chapter Six

There weren't many dates that Negaduck deemed worthy of notice; there was the day that his parents died and the day that he blew up the foster home. And then there was the day that he took complete control of St Canard, but there were two dates that would become virtually inseparable in his mind – probably because they occurred only a few weeks apart in the year of 1995. That was the year that he finally found a portal into the Normalverse, but before he would have time to enjoy his new playground Gosalyn Waddlemeyer would come into his life.

If you were to ask Negaduck in later years which of the two events that he preferred the most, and he actually chose to answer you instead of introducing you to his favourite chainsaw, he would say that it was finding the portal. After all this had been an obsession of his since his days in the foster home. And it had been a happy discovery.

Curiously enough, it was that most hated animal in all the universes that led him to it. After all, the only reason that he would step webfoot into the Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice bakery, would be to shoot the three bunnies that he had just seen hop in through the front door. After he announced his arrival in the cake shop in his usual understated manner, the rabbits rushed into the backroom, up the step ladder and into the gi-normous cake that was situated there. This odd occurrence registered dimly in Negaduck's mind as he himself charged up the ladder and looked down into the cake to see…

It was a portal, it was an actual live portal, it was an actual live portal into another universe. It was… green and slightly yellow with little sparkly bits. And it was all his. Five minutes later he had left the abandoned shop and nailed a poster of himself across the door, for one he didn't want any more cute, fluffy animals escaping. He could afford to wait for a couple of weeks before exploring; he had a city to control.

* * *

Outside the city a condor, carrying a small portable television set, was making its way towards a large house. Beneath it, in a small grey transit van, were three moose arguing.

"What happens if the Professor doesn't want to come with us?"

"Then we do as the Boss suggests; grab the goirl and use her as leverage."

"And what if he does co-operate?"

"Then we grab the goirl anyway."

"What does Taurus Bulba want the Professor for, anyway? I didn't get that part when he was explaining it to us."

"What's to get? He wants the Professor to build him a weapon that will make him super rich. If he gets rich then we get rich. Understand, shorty?"

"Er, we get rich?"

"You're a genius," Hammerhead replied, dryly. "Heads up foilks, 'cause here we are."

The van had drawn up outside a large red bricked house. The van's occupants walked up the garden path to the blue porched door and rung the bell. It was answered by one of the most revolting things that they had ever seen; a young duckling of no more than eight years of age. She was dressed in a pink dress that clashed horribly with the red hair that was set in curls atop her head. Hammerhead inwardly cringed whilst he put on an ingratiating smile that looked as though he had toothache.

"Ah, good morning, Miss. I, with my associates, represent Bulba enterprises. The director of which would like to commission Professor Waddlemeyer for a special project of his. Is it possible to speak with the Professor?"

"If you gentlemen would like to come inside whilst I go and fetch my Grandfather."

"Why, thank you very much. Miss, Waddlemeyer is it?" The young girl nodded. "Well, thank you very much, Miss Waddlemeyer. It's very nice, very nice of you to invite us in like this, isn't it boys?" he flung the question over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold.

"Yes Boss, it's very nice of Miss Waddlemeyer," was echoed back whilst Miss Waddlemeyer gave them all a smile that Hammerhead privately thought could rot teeth if looked at for more than five seconds.

"If you gentlemen would like to wait here for a moment and I'll just go and fetch him," so saying she disappeared into the house. Three minutes later she brought back a rather rotund elderly duck wearing red spectacles on his face, with her.

"Thank you, Gosalyn. I'll take it from her." Gosalyn gave her cavity causing smile again and slipped out of the hallway. "Now gentlemen, how may I be of service?"

"Professor Waddlemeyer, my name is Hammerhead and I, along with my associates, represent Bulba enterprises."

"You can stop right there, I've heard of Mr Taurus Bulba and would like nothing to do with him. Good day, gentlemen," he stepped forwards to usher them out the door.

"Oh Mr Bulba will be sorry to hear that. Very sorry indeed. But if that is your final decision then I suppose that there is nothing to be done to change your mind?"

"Nothing at all."

"Then we'll go. Good day Professor Waddlemeyer."

"What do we do now, Boss?" asked Hoof once they were at the van.

"Now we wait."

* * *

"I'm going to the shops, Gosalyn. You be good now and do your homework. I'll be back soon. If you see those men from earlier, don't let them in, okay?"

"Of course not, Grandfather. Aren't they very nice?"

"Not very nice, no. I'll see you later. Goodbye Gosalyn." He stooped down to give her a hug, placing a kiss on her hair as he did so.

"Goodbye, Grandfather. Have a pleasant journey."

As he drove his car through the country lanes to reach the city he didn't notice the grey vehicle hidden behind a hedge, instead driving straight past it as he trundled on his way. He only spent fifteen minutes in the D.I.Y store before heading over to the huge supermarket to buy that weeks shopping. One and a half hours after he left his house he arrived back to find that the front door was ajar.

"Gosalyn," he looked around the hall, seeing an overturned lamp on the side table. He hurried up the stairs after seeing a broken banister rail. "Gosalyn!" His call was more urgent now as he hurried to her room. The normally well ordered space was now something that could only be called a tip. The duvet was hanging off the bed and a chest of drawers was overturned nest to an untidy pile of books, thrown from the bookcase. On the desk, on top of the half completed homework was a note.

_We have the girl. Build what we want you to build or never see her again. Now go into the lounge. _

In the lounge he found a portable television set with another note, taped across the screen. _Turn me on_. Taurus Bulba's image appeared as he pressed the on switch.

"Aah, Professor, so good to see you at last. I've heard a lot about you."

"As I have you Taurus Bulba. None of it good. What have you done with Gosalyn?"

"Calm down, Professor. Goosalyn is safe and will continue to remain so as long as you give me what I need."

"And what is it that you need from me?"

"A weapon, Professor. A little birdie in the city has informed me that I have a little competition to my business interests. This competition must be dealt with. You will build me what I need to deal with the upstart. You will have the blueprints within two hours. And no funny business, Waddlemeyer, or else your sweet, little Goosalyn will be no more."


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own Darkwing Duck or his associates. Enjoy.**

Chapter Seven

6th October, 1980

Taurus Bulba was not an easy person to work for. Short tempered and with a cruel streak a mile wide, more than one of his underlings had been known to go missing after giving him bad news. This was why Marvin Lutravine was obsessively pacing in the room that led into the gang leader's office. Clover, Taurus Bulba's svelte secretary, came out.

"Taurus Bulba will see you now." She waited until Marvin was in the office before shutting the door and crossing over to the telephone. "This is Clover; Taurus Bulba would like the cleaners to come in an hour's time."

"Marvin, come in, have a seat. How are you?"

"Thank you, Mr Bulba. I'm very well. H-how about you, Sir?"

"I, Marvin, am not very well. I've been hearing some disturbing accounts, Marvin."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Sir." Marvin's tail was twitching, very slightly and his front paws were firmly clenched on his knees in an effort to stop them from shaking.

"Of course the information that I've been receiving could all be a misunderstanding. Perhaps you can help me. Is there any reason why I've been told that we've lost the Northside of St Canard to those Mallards?" He banged both fists on the desk and leaned forwards over it. Marvin, no longer able to disguise the fact that his body was shaking in fear, answered in a rush.

"They were everywhere, we couldn't stop them. We tried Boss, we really did. I'm sorry, so sorry. Please don't kill me."

"So, they were everywhere and you couldn't stop them. Are you sure that that you even tried?" He didn't wait for an answer as he carried on. "You failed me Marvin, and I do not accept failure in my business." He stood and moved around the desk as he spoke. "Mr Lutravine, this is the price of failure." He pressed a button on the underside of the desk and two Cockerels stepped into the room. "Aaah, Steelbeak and Razoredge. I'm afraid that our associate here has managed 

to get into debt through his mismanagement of St Canard's Northside. Please could you take him through to the usual room and encourage the payment from him?"

The pair simply nodded and grabbed an arm each, dragging the otter between them.

"And when you've finished that, Steelbeak, clean up and then come and see me. I have another job for you concerning the Mallards."

Again Steelbeak just gave a curt nod. The door closed on Marvin's anguished cries.

* * *

Now

Taurus Bulba walked into the small room on the other side of the building, which held Gosalyn Mallard. When he reached it he unlocked the door and walked in. Inside he found the small duckling with a feather duster in her hand, dusting the metal frame of her bed. Although the guards had been given instructions that they were not to give her anything they had found her polite requests for a small piece of cloth to dust with, too much to stand when coupled with that sugar coated smile. Consequently one of them had lifted a whole pack of twenty from a local shop, in the hopes that a proper duster would get her to shut up. Now they had to deal with her thanks and a small lecture on the importance of cleanliness, instead. Luckily they were able to avoid the lecture on cleaning. Gosalyn might not have made it out of the encounter alive.

"Ah, Goosalyn. I hope that you are enjoying your stay here."

Gosalyn stopped in her cleaning spree and came over to the bull that towered over her.

"Why am I here? What have you done to my Grandfather?"

"There is no need to worry, Goosalyn. Your Grandfather is perfectly safe and will continue to remain so as long as he performs a small task for me. When that happens you'll be free to see him again." The smile that he gave wasn't quite as reassuring as it was meant to be.

"What sort of task do you want him to do? He's a famous inventor, you know. He can invent _anything_."

"Oh it's just a case of a small building job for me. Nothing that needs to concern you. But I've been very remiss; I haven't yet told you who I am. I apologise for my manners, my name is Taurus Bulba, a businessman."

"If you were a businessman then you wouldn't have had your men kidnap me," her voice was indignant.

"Oh, but you see my dear, I am a very _special_ businessman, with very particular interests. That is why I need your Grandfather's help."

"Good people don't kidnap. You aren't a good man and you keep this place filthy. Didn't your mother teach you how to be good and tidy?"

For the first time in the conversation, he frowned. "No," he said, his voice flat, "she didn't. You are trying my patience, Miss Waddlemeyer, and I am not known for my patience. Your guards will come to feed you at five." He swept from the room and locked the door behind himself.

Once he was back in his office he called for Hammerhead and his two stooges. Whilst he was waiting for them to arrive he turned on the small TV set. On all the channels, all that was visible was a picture of Negaduck in all his smirking glory. Once he had taken control of the city's broadcasting building, this was all that could be seen apart from the sporadic updates when the sets managed to switch themselves on and Negaduck's latest controlling measure was reported. This latest report was that he was now expecting to receive a large tithe from his people every month, as if the city was back in Medieval Britain.

"You wanted us, Boss?" Hammerhead's voice interrupted Bulba from his musings as he turned on his employee angrily.

"Yes, I did, I also have this thing called a door which you have to knock upon _before _entering. I'll demonstrate." With that he grabbed Hammerhead by the antlers and dragged him to the door whereupon he demonstrated how to knock by using his head. Hammerhead was left dazed as he zigzagged to his previous position, once he had been given permission to enter.

"I think that the Professor deserves a visit. After all, we wouldn't want him to be breaking any promises, would we? Go to him and make sure that he has started on those blueprints that you left for him. And make sure that you take photographs. I want tangible proof."

There was a chorus of, "Right, Boss," and then they left. Taurus Bulba turned back to the TV, which had reverted back to simply showing a picture of Negaduck's face. It was eight years ago when he had destroyed his rivals, the Mallard family. One year after that he was thrown into jail for arranging the deaths of Alan and Rita Mallard. Only a year ago he had broken out and started reclaiming what was his. However, before that could fully happen, this Negaduck had seized control of the city. Arrogant and guiltless, from what he was able to discern, he also looked too similar to his father for Taurus Bulba not to recognise him. It seemed that Drake hadn't learned from his parent's deaths. It was a lesson that he, with Waddlemeyer's expertise, was all too ready to teach.

**Reviews are always apreciated. Many thanks.**


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